


let the ocean take me

by timekept



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Ghost Hunting, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Pining, Road Trips, Running Away, Self-Esteem Issues, and explores stuff, christianity mention??, idk what to tag, implied suicidal ideation, light themes of antitheism, more as story progresses, shane goes on a Journey, slavery mention?? (bible verses), uh, uhhhhh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-07
Updated: 2017-10-11
Packaged: 2019-01-10 05:54:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12292698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timekept/pseuds/timekept
Summary: Shane and Ryan hadrules.They were unspoken, of course, but they were there.One.They didn't touch, not likethat.Two.Everything was for the camera, and youknowthis, Madej.Three.Apparently,Shane didn't call Ryan 'babe.'And, of course,Four;they didn't talk about the Silence. The silence that followed when Ryan whisper-shouted,"I'm starting to think you actually have a death wish!"or when he yelled under his breath, eyes wide and exhilarated, half-angry and half-amused, after Shane had his go at provoking some supernatural entity,“Do you want to fucking die?!”They didn't talk about the brief quiet after Shane had said, "I want to be swept up in this. I really wanna believe in something." They just didn't.





	1. Pittsburgh (No Intro)

**Author's Note:**

> holy shit i remember searching ao3 for this ship back when there were zero (0) fics,, now look at us,,anyway hi im here to project All My Issues onto People Whose Content I Enjoy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I'll take another breath for you_   
>  _Will you still be there when I'm home,_   
>  _out from the great unknown?_

Shane and Ryan had _rules._ They were unspoken, of course, but they were there.  
**One.** They didn't touch, not like _that_.  
**Two.** Everything was for the camera, and you _know_ this, Madej.  
**Three.** _Apparently,_ Shane didn't call Ryan 'babe.'  
And, of course, **Four** **;** they didn't talk about the Silence. The silence that followed when Ryan whisper-shouted, _"I'm starting to think you actually have a death wish!"_ or when he yelled under his breath, eyes wide and exhilarated, half-angry and half-amused, after Shane had his go at provoking some supernatural entity, _“Do you want to fucking die?!”_ They didn't talk about the brief quiet after Shane had said, "I want to be swept up in this. I really wanna believe in something." They just didn't.

Those were the _Rules_ , and Shane knew them by heart, repeated them over and over in his head in the hours he lay awake back home in his apartment. He slept like a baby in a demon-infested abandoned hospital, in an ancient ship swarming with ghosts, in any creaking, cramped, danger-riddled room that he shared with Ryan. But he followed the rules, as always, and said nothing. Let his touch linger only as long as was appropriate, kept the fondness trapped behind his eyes. Kept his face emotionless and his voice expressionless.

* * *

_“Do you not know how love works?”_

_“...Maybe I don’t.”_

* * *

It was early morning, not long after the trailer for _BuzzFeed Unsolved: Supernatural_ S3 went live, when Shane was really _hit_ by the stormfront of feeling, something he could only describe as ‘urgency.’ It was nebulous, intangible--Shane couldn’t grab ahold of his thoughts or feelings, couldn't find a concrete goal or meaning in the obfuscation and confusion. A wisp of anxiety here, the faintest trace of loneliness there, but all meanings swirling, dancing just out of his mind’s reach. There was just a whisper in his ear, a silent urging at the very edge of his consciousness; _“Go.”_

As he packed up _(clean clothes, a water bottle, phone charger, laptop?)_ and called in _(“Yeah, no, I just need--I dunno, two weeks? Yeah, I’m sorry, it’s...it’s urgent. Thanks.”)_ Shane’s real goal wasn’t solidified in his mind. All he felt--all he _knew_ \--was that he had to get going, had to move, had to see and feel and _be_ . In his mind’s eye, he could see the endlessness of Route 66, the clarity of desert skies. His tongue was heavy in his mouth; every nerve in his body crackled with electricity. Adrenaline coursed through him and he felt more awake than he had in days, weeks. Somewhere, out in the heatwaves and cracked red earth and the badlands, he would find some sort of meaning, find God or ghosts or something, _anything_ to believe in. Maybe, somehow, somewhere, find himself.

Shane clambered into his car not long after 7am, mind abuzz and hands trembling with energy and anticipation. He sent a silent, telepathic _“thanks”_ to Ryan for roping him into Unsolved, for making him a much more indispensable cog in BuzzFeed’s machine-- it was due to the series’ popularity that he could have some kind of mental breakdown and take off into the desert out of the blue. Ryan. Shane tightened his grip on the steering wheel, turning his knuckles white. Ryan. Ryan would wonder, of course he would. He cared, even if it wasn’t in the way Shane did. He was _good_ and _kind_ and he would want to know what was going on. Shane fumbled to get his phone out of his pocket, paused to try and concoct some kind of reasonable text message despite the tumult in his mind, his chest.

* * *

**shane:** hey ryan, i’m taking a couple weeks off. dunno. try not to get eaten by demons while i’m gone ok |

**shane:** call or text if u need anything |

* * *

Shane sighed, turned the keys in the ignition, felt the engine fill with warmth and life. If there was something in the drylands, the deserts, the endless skies--Shane would find it. He pressed his foot to the accelerator. He drove.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this chapter is so short I'll do better once im back in the swing of Writing


	2. Lost & Fading

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _So far from home._
> 
> _I'm lost and fading, life ain't great._  
>  _My heart is breaking and life won't wait._  
>  _There's no one there, no one around,_  
>  _There's not a soul and not a sound._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> told u i'd do better!! theres like. 1k words in this chapter. i know thats not like A lot but its rly good for me bc i Hate Writing and i find it Really Hard
> 
> anyway i hope y'all like this. pls enjoy me projecting My Entire Being onto shane and failing to write anything even vaguely in character

There was nothing within the city limits that Shane wanted to see; nothing felt worth the traffic, the cursing, the road-raging commuters and the bourgeois views of Los Angeles and the Hollywood Hills. Shane considered Griffith Park, see if he could spot the infamous P-22, but the same urgency that whispered for him to move, to go, to drive, tugged eastward from his chest. Out, away from the urban sprawl and into the deserts.

Still, it was just over an hour away that he made his first stop; Morey Mansion. Built by a couple, the wife, Sarah, had fallen ill and died in the house. Her husband was grief-stricken and killed himself somewhere in San Diego after becoming an alcoholic. Shane knew about it only because Ryan had spoken about doing an episode there--sleep in the house, try to contact Sarah's ghost, the usual shenanigans. Shane parked his car across the street and leaned against it as he stared down the house, as if it was a nemesis, an opponent. His mind drifted to David Morey, the husband who couldn't cope with his grief and hanged himself in a hotel room miles away from the house he and his lover had built together. A feeling of melancholy set in over Shane, and he slipped back into the driver’s seat. Redlands wasn't far enough; he needed distance. He needed to get away from the city lights and sounds and the smog overhead. The asphalt welcomed him.

Eighty miles and and hour and a half later, Shane reached Joshua Tree National Park. The yellow earth, otherworldly vegetation, and open skies distinctly separated it from the crowded Los Angeles city streets and suburbs, and Shane felt his head clear, however slightly. Slightly aimlessly, Shane turned down Park Blvd., finally parking just beyond the ‘Ryan House and Lost Horse Well.’ Ryan house. Ryan. Ryan Ryan Ryan. Shane shook his head. _Stop it. Stop thinking about him._ He couldn’t, and instead snapped a picture. Ryan hadn’t yet read the texts Shane had sent early that morning, and Shane sighed as he tapped ‘send.’

 **shane:** lol look its ur house | [.img attachment]

The house was...nothing much, now. Built by the Ryan family in 1896, it was mostly destroyed by a fire in the late seventies. Still, the ruins of three rooms still stood, and Shane padded cautiously through them, finally sitting down in front of the crumbling remains of a stone fireplace in the east-most room. The Ryan family had done well for themselves; they’d established what was once the most profitable mine in the area--Lost Horse. Shane felt insignificant and out of place, sitting in their living room, so he stood after only a couple minutes and made his way to the small, nearby ‘cemetery.’ Just ten graves, marked by nothing more than squarish rocks. Graves not for faith or honor, but for keeping scavengers at bay. Flowerless. Desolate, deserted.

“Hello?” Shane said, his voice sounding foreign and foolish in the lonely daylight. Without Ryan to tease, without night to lend any sense of mystery or meaning, Shane felt dumb and isolated--a sad, lonely man speaking to non-existent spirits and bone dust beneath his feet. A lump rose in Shane’s throat, fixing itself painfully just behind his Adam’s apple, threatening him with tears. Shane wanted the desert to feel freeing, but all he felt was alone. It was the vibration of his phone in his pocket that kept the tears from coming.

 **ryan:** shut up jackass u know id have more tasteful decor than that |

 **ryan:** ur good tho right? ur ok? U dont normally just. run off |

Shane swallowed hard, and a smile crept back to his face.

 **shane:** yeah im ok. Just needed to clear my head i guess. |

 **ryan:** ok. keep me updated man, let me know ur safe and shit |

 **shane:** for sure. |

Shane took a last glance at the wasteland graveyard and the crumbled adobe walls of the Ryan House as he pocketed his phone. Sun-bleached and desolate though it was, there was nothing here that stirred him, that struck him, made him wonder. It wasn’t yet 10 in the morning--the day was young yet, so Shane once again got into his car and kicked up dust as he continued on his way down Park Blvd.

It was just nine miles down the road to the trailhead up to Desert Queen Mine, which Shane hiked his way up to, going over the lore on his phone. Established in the early 1890’s, it was taken over by an outlaw gang leader and known ‘cattle rustler’ Jim McHaney--McHaney allegedly sent two of his men to demand control of the mine from the owner, Frank L. James. James was forced to sign over the property at gunpoint, but was shot and killed anyway. His murderer was acquitted. The mine operated until the early 1960’s, and though Shane could find no record of ‘haunting,’ getting robbed and murdered certainly seemed the kind of thing to leave behind an angry spirit.

He picked his way past the crumbled stone remains of ruins, past long-rusted mining equipment, to the mouth of the mine. He ignored the ‘Danger! Do Not Enter!’ sign, and stepped into the dark, earthen maw. It felt immediately cooler and quieter within the mine, and Shane padded cautiously down the ruined tunnel. There were places where rocks had clearly come dislodged, fallen from the ceiling, but still he pressed on. It was cool and dark and somehow comforting, and when Shane reached the metal bars that closed the passage off from the public, he still didn’t turn on his phone flashlight, opting instead to sink to the floor and wait.

“James? Frank James?” Shane called out quietly, his voice bouncing off the walls. “I read about what happened to you here. That’s, uh. That’s rough, dude. Sorry you got, uh, shot.” Shane waited to see if anything happened; a chill, a voice, a noise. He expected nothing and got nothing. To his surprise, he felt frustrated. “Listen bud, sorry you got whacked out here, but I’m trying to find some kind of fuckin’ spirituality in your shitty mine, so maybe if you’re here, knock a rock out of the ceiling or something!” Shane snapped, standing up. He waited a few moments, wishing for anything to happen, something to break or crack or fall. The cave was silent, though, and Shane stalked out of it, feeling somewhere between crestfallen and vindicated.

“Fuck you, Frank!” Shane called out as he slammed his car door shut behind him, opening Google Maps. He had to go farther. He selected a destination, tightened his fingers on the wheel, and set out. It would be a two hour drive to the Salton Sea.


	3. Don't Lean On Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Well don't lean on me 'cause I am falling, please don't fall with me._   
>  _I really need you here, yeah I need you so don't leave._   
>  _And don't count on me 'cause I am drowning, please don't drown with me._   
>  _Just hold me in your heart, let the ocean take me._

Shane was pretty sure that Bombay Beach and the Salton Riviera were in no way haunted, not unless the thousands of now-desiccated fish corpses had left behind piscine ghosts that now swam, aimless, in the miasma of the destitute landscape. Still, Shane explored it; the rusted, rotting, creaking, crippled remains of the real estate sinkhole of the 1970s, the remnants of dead-end dreams that had swallowed up millions of dollars in property sales and empty promises. In reality, though, the only ghosts here were the ghosts of greed-fueled ambition that roamed the abandoned yacht club and resort. With nothing but ruination to see and no spirits to taunt, after just a few hours of alternately driving and walking the bone-littered shores of the deserted ‘sea,’ of aimless wandering and kicking up dust in the bleak afterimage of prosperity, Shane took one last look at the desolate reality of the area once marketed as ‘the New Palm Springs’, pulled the hem of his shirt up over his mouth and nose to keep the smell of rotting fish and decaying algae at bay, clambered back into his car, and moved on.

Once again, Shane found himself making a stop sooner than he expected. In the 5 o’clock glow of the late-afternoon California sun, Salvation Mountain of Calipatria, CA seemed illuminated. As he climbed out of his car, Shane thought back to Father Thomas, the priest who’d blessed Ryan’s holy water, who’d instructed them against communication with demons. But Shane had lain on a scorched-away pentagram, invited horror upon himself, and yet...here he was. Breathing easily before a monument to zealotry. Shane sneered distractedly at the garish colors of the mountain that loudly proclaimed ‘God is LOVE.’ His spine rigid with discomfort, he forced himself to walk around the massive installation. Biblical verse after Biblical verse adorned the mountainside, all proclaiming salvation and the love of The Lord. Shane’s sneer dropped to a grimace, then to something akin to a snarl.

Where was the fucking _rest_ , Shane wondered disgustedly; where was Leviticus 25:44 -- _‘However, you may purchase male or female slaves from among the foreigners who live among you.  You may also purchase the children of such resident foreigners, including those who have been born in your land.  You may treat them as your property, passing them on to your children as a permanent inheritance.’_ ? Where was Exodus 21:20-21 -- _‘When a man strikes his male or female slave with a rod so hard that the slave dies under his hand, he shall be punished. If, however, the slave survives for a day or two, he is not to be punished, since the slave is his own property.’_ ? Where were the verses that made his own Midwestern childhood hellish, the ones that made him sob in his bedroom at age twelve, the ones that turned him into a playground target throughout public school? Where was Leviticus 20:13 _(If a man also lie with mankind, as he lieth with a woman, both of them have committed an abomination: they shall surely be put to death; their blood shall be upon them)_ or Leviticus 18:22? _(Thou shalt not lie with mankind, as with womankind: it is abomination.)_

Why did these fucking people insist on painting a mountainside in bright pastels, to proclaim ‘unconditional love?’ Why the _fuck_ did they insist on this one-sided, biased bullshit? Shane realized his neck was aching with how rigidly he held himself, that he’d been grinding his teeth without noticing. Ryan took comfort in the company of priests, in the walls of churches and chapels. Ryan looked at peace and beautiful in the scattered colors of stained glass windows, looked like a Monet or a Renoir as the dappled hues played over his skin--Shane? Shane could barely stand to sit in the pews. It wasn’t just atheism; Shane could deal with spirituality, could understand, could empathize with the desire to believe, to take comfort--fuck, he was 262 miles away from home now on some search for his own brand of faith--but this, the bright, blinding colors and the sickening positivity, it was too much. It was too much for Shane, who despite standing at an imposing 6’4’’ still felt young, small, weak--like a fourth grader, scared and estranged and alone, when confronted with a bright smile and a Bible verse.

“It’s not fair.” Shane heard himself say to the mountain, to God, to no-one, his voice cracking. He realized tears had crept to the corners of his eyes. He brushed them away with the back of his hand. “It’s not fucking _fair_!” He repeated, his voice stronger. “You’re supposed to love everyone! You should have protected me!” Shane clenched his jaw and fists, feeling emotional and out of control in the weakening yellow light of the late afternoon. He swallowed hard, trying to regain his composure, as he slowly walked back to his car. As he settled into the driver’s seat and turned his keys in the ignition, he found himself biting back a sob when he glanced up again at the massive words on the mountain. _“GOD is LOVE.”_

“You were supposed to love me.” Shane whispered, taking one last look at Salvation Mountain. “Was I just not good enough?...Will I ever be?” No answer came, and Shane took a moment to rest his forehead against the steering wheel, to recover, before pulling out of the parking lot and returning to the road. It was just a thirty minute drive to the unassuming and quiet Desert Inn in Brawley, CA. A soft-spoken front desk clerk and a room key later, Shane collapsed into the gentle, comforting unfamiliarity of his hotel bed just before 7:30pm. Emotional exhaustion darkened his vision, and he slipped gratefully into sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for another short chapter, it. felt a lot longer while writing bc i got Emotionally Compromised™
> 
> Anyway uhhhh friendly reminder that This Is Fiction and i have No Idea abt the personal beliefs or experiences of these two this is just some kind of personal fckin,, catharsis/literary therapy for myself so don't.... be aggressive w me for this chapter pls? thank


	4. The Weigh Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I've lived behind a mask_   
>  _So long so few know who I am_   
>  _They know other sides of me_   
>  _That hide behind a haunted man_

It was just barely seven in the morning when Shane woke up, greeted by the flute-like, rippling song of a western meadowlark. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he padded over to his window, pulling back the curtain. The condensation of morning mist lingered on the lower part of the glass, but the now-risen sun presented Shane with a clear view of the Desert Inn parking lot, tinged pink and yellow with post-dawn sunlight. A pair of cactus wrens tussled playfully over a discarded bag of trail mix, flapping and chirping indignantly at one another before settling down to peck at the scattered sunflower seeds and dried fruit, only to agitate eachother once again, fluttering after one another in mock aggression. Shane smiled, and searched for the meadowlark, who he finally spotted, perched upon one of the lamps in the lot. The bird paused its morning call, ruffled its feathers and took a moment to preen before resuming the warbling melody. Shane felt refreshed and well-rested--unsurprising, really, his having slept for just under twelve hours. _Must have needed it,_ he thought to himself. He felt peaceful in the town of Brawley, which seemed to have none of the early-morning commuter congestion of Los Angeles.

Shane took a quick shower, relished in the warm spray and the distance. After putting on a clean shirt and brushing his teeth, he felt his stomach rumble. He stood, confused, for a moment before he remembered, _Oh, right, I never ate lunch or dinner yesterday. The hell was wrong with me?_ Shane stepped out of the hotel doors and into the warmth of the desert morning, relishing the stretch of his muscles and the freshness of the air. The lightness of the traffic here let Shane jaywalk across Main Street, giving in to the siren song of the flickering neon ‘OPEN 24/7’ and ‘Cappuccino & Espresso’ signs at Donuts Plus, just across the road from Desert Inn. The woman behind the counter smiled kindly at him and Shane gave a silent sigh of relief when she gave him his cappuccino and maple donut without forcing him into some uncomfortably forced small-talk. Shane sat by the front window, lazily enjoyed his coffee, found his donut just the right level of sweet and sticky. The sun quietly climbed in the sky outside, and Shane took a picture of the warm, bright light and the back of the neon sign to send to Ryan. Opening his messages, his heart skipped a beat--Ryan had already messaged him, around 6:50.

 **ryan:** hey big guy. didn’t hear from u last night but hopefully ur having fun. Gonna miss u at work today |

 **ryan:** let me know when ur up? Is that weird? Idc fuck you i just wanna know u havent been ghost-murdered |

Shane couldn’t keep himself from smiling. Ryan would miss him. He tapped out a quick message to go with his photo.

 **shane:** hey, i’m up. eating healthy. a maple donut and a massive amount of coffee is a good breakfast, right? | [.img attachment]

Finishing his breakfast, Shane tossed a tip onto the table, waved to the woman behind the counter, and made his way back to the inn. It didn’t take him long to pack the small amount of stuff he’d brought back into his car, and he turned in his key and checked out just after eight. It was easy, being back on the road, moving along again. His windows rolled down, his hair swept back by the breeze, the journey felt freeing. As he left Brawley behind--travelling first through the agricultural outskirts of the small city, and then passing over the Coachella Canal and entering into the bright, endless landscape of the North Algodones Dunes Wilderness Area--Shane felt a distinct kinship with nature; like a mustang running free and wild, or a falcon diving through open skies. The desert-land was blindingly bright in the sun, pure and light and infinite. Perhaps it should have felt bleak, or stark, or deadened, what with the bone-white sands and sparse vegetation, but Shane could only relish it. The horizon seemed so far as to be meaningless, the land was bleached but bright and beautiful.

Route 78 curled up past Indian Pass Wilderness Area, took Shane through dunes and dry creek-beds, through air thick with the scent of sunlight and sagebrush. Passing to the right of the Palo Verde Mountains Wilderness Area, Shane took in the beginnings of countryside views, a glimpse of the Colorado River, as he approached and passed through the small towns at the edge of California’s border with Arizona. Palo Verde was a blip on the radar; a few blocks of quiet buildings surrounded by farmland. Ripley was larger, but seemed only half-complete; it was as if the town was sleeping out in the desert, dormant and waiting for humans, ever-industrious, to pave new streets on the northern side of Main Street. Blythe was larger, a “real” city, or as real as they got out in the desert. A glance at the map on his phone told Shane there was nothing there for him, no attraction that called his name, so he declined to stop and instead turned onto Christopher Columbus Transcontinental Hwy. _“To be fair….fuck Christopher Columbus.”_ Shane thought to himself, the memory of Ryan’s wheezed laughter bringing a smile to his lips. Shane was still smiling as he crossed the Colorado River, out of Blythe, out of California, into the hot, beckoning landscape of Arizona.

The stretch of land across the river echoed the topography of the stretch of Route 78 outside Brawley, and Shane drank in the semblance of familiarity. Shane knew ghost towns weren't really about actual ghosts, but he took Central Blvd north when he reached Quartzsite nonetheless, heading toward the ghost town and abandoned copper mine of Swansea. The straight shot along 95 up to the right-hand turn onto 72 was barren, but still had the arid beauty Shane had so quickly grown to associate with warmth and strength and freedom. Route 72 followed a dry--or maybe seasonal--riverbed. It twisted, diverged and remet alongside the road, serpentine and lined with desert foliage. Shane loved it, the feeling of being free as a wild creature rising again in his chest. Shane took the turn onto Swansea Rd, drove along the edge of the Cactus Plain Wilderness Study Area and over the Central Arizona Project Canal. The area got hillier as he followed the dirt road past someplace labeled Midway on his map that in reality offered no indication that it necessitated a name--there were neither buildings nor ruined foundations at Midway; just, as far as Shane could tell, an intersection of empty streets at the very base of a mountainous region. He continued along the winding mountain road, checking his phone frequently to ensure he didn’t get thrown off by old offshoots and long-abandoned mining trails.

Finally, the long-deserted town came into view. Shane had been expecting rubble; old, half-collapsed buildings made out of dried-out and weathered wood, so the more or less intact brick buildings of Swansea were an intriguing surprise. He parked his car in front of the remains of Swansea Mine Company Store and took a moment to stretch as he stepped out of his vehicle. The vast, open landscape and the wind whipping through his hair had made the trip seem almost fleeting; in actuality it had been three and a half hours on the road. Shane cracked his neck, his knuckles, rolled his shoulders. His bitter discomfort from yesterday seemed to have been left back in Calipatria, 193 miles southwest, which Shane felt grateful for, but standing in the ruins of the old mining town brought a certain sense of melancholy down over him.

It was something about a sense of loneliness and desolation, something about how isolated the buildings looked against the empty desert landscape. Then, of course, there was the history of the town. Swansea mined primarily copper, was established around 1906--but just six years later, in 1912, the original mining company went bankrupt. The town would hobble along for another twelve years, but the town post office itself closed its doors in 1924. Swansea was already considered a ghost town by 1937. Yet the town, existent and active for only just about eighteen years, apparently necessitated two cemeteries. Shane knew the area offered walking tours and campsites, but at high noon on a weekday, he was the only one exploring Swansea: The silence, the absence of life, made the town itself feel liminal and Shane sighed quietly as he made his way down the main road, his shoes kicking up clouds of dust that blew away and dissipated in the faint desert breeze. The dry, deserted town welcomed him, and Shane would be lying if the lonely buildings and dust-devils didn't stir some semblance of kinship in his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoa looks like SOMEONE got inspired to write properly,, 1.5k words heck yea
> 
> sorry for the abrupt kinda?? chapter ending??? i didnt sleep last night but i wanted to get this chapter out today so i decided to try and wrap it quickly so there wouldnt be too much awful sleep-deprived writing. This chapter is kinda??? weird bc it's like. Nice™? which isnt my fav bc im trying to write some fuckening Angst here,, but the healing properties of solitary exploration tho,,,, idk anyway i hope this chapter is up to snuff for y'all i'm doing my best

**Author's Note:**

> uuuuuuh idk if this would interest anyone but i have a pinterest aesthetic board for this fic: https://www.pinterest.com/vvnmccandless/aesthetic-fic-let-the-ocean-take-me/
> 
> so if u like pictures,,, go for it


End file.
